


Dominant

by emma_ockham



Series: Short and Unrelated A/R Smut [2]
Category: Battlestar Galactica, Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: Baltar's Four Poster Bed, Bill is thick and wide fanon, Doggy Style, Dom/sub Play, Established Bill/Laura, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Female Solo, Middle Aged Sex, Military Uniforms, Naked Female Clothed Male, Non-Con Roleplay, PWP, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rough Sex, Sex Toys, Sexual Roleplay, Vaginal Sex, Vibrators, Walking In On Someone
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-24
Updated: 2013-11-24
Packaged: 2018-01-02 13:25:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1057289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emma_ockham/pseuds/emma_ockham
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Summary: PWP<br/>Props: Baltar’s bed, an anthracite-colored vibrator and the buttons of Bill’s uniform jacket.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dominant

**Author's Note:**

> Writen for the seventh Adama/Roslin Month of Love, initiated by the incredible larsfarm77.
> 
> Time: Laura’s second presidency, after NC, before the return of the cancer.  
> Situation: Bill and Laura in an established relationship. 
> 
> With tremendous thanks to lanalucy for indispensable beta comments, wise words and friendly encouragement.  
> All errors, of course, are mine.

With a languid sigh, Laura dissolved into the mattress of the bulky four-poster bed Baltar had bequeathed her. She sprawled sumptuously, face down, naked, and at peace with the world. The wet vibrator rested where she'd dropped it, not far from her face; cool air licked at the left leg still sticking out from under the red silk sheet she had pulled up over herself, afterwards. Her eyes closed in satiated relaxation.

She ought to have thrown out Baltar's bed. She should have gone back to sleeping on the couch as she had done during her first presidency. "We'll do it next week", she’d told Bill. And next week it was, always next week. Bill didn’t press the matter. He ensured that they both got maximum benefit from the bed while she had it. She snuggled into the cushion. Enjoying these private moments with her toys, uninterrupted by affairs of state, had become precious to her. 

Tory would devise a way to wake her up without entering the bedroom, she was sure. After Tory had run into one of her boss’ liaisons with her toys, knocking had become the least of her precautions. Laura smiled with lazy mirth and she drifted off.

&&&

Laura didn’t know what had stirred her sleeping mind, but when she found herself awake she knew she was no longer alone in the room. Through the fog of her dream, she was aware of the sight she must be presenting to the uninvited visitor’s eye: the middle-aged dignitary, the revered prophet, exposed in unreserved all-too-human disinhibition. 

The impulse to sit up and confront the intruder tugged at her brain, but it seemed too much hassle to bother. Tory shouldn't be in here in the first place. Laura was certain she had at least another ten minutes left of her precious half hour. 

There was a quiet creak of shoes on the deck near the foot of the bed. 

Laura’s eyes flew open. That was not the prim-heeled tread of her secretary. _Then who?_ She waited, evening out her breath, feigning sleep, attempting to hear more. 

His scent drifted her way. 

An indolent smile crossed her face. _Bill_. She should have known. Who else would Tory let enter during her “alone time?” 

Satisfied that she had come to the right conclusion, Laura closed her eyes again. Her mind told her in the professional voice she normally heeded that she had to get up, engage Bill who would have had a good reason to come by unannounced, but her body refused to let go of the final few unclaimed minutes it had coming and her breathing settled back into the sleepy rhythm it had been following before Bill's presence woke her up. 

Any business Bill brought to her would have to wait. Ten minutes of after-glow was all she wanted. Bill would understand a thing like that, surely. It wasn’t as if the Admiral himself was known for his post-orgasmic vivaciousness, and it wasn’t as if he hadn't seen her sleeping before. Explaining why she required him to return later would rupture her sated equilibrium just as much as asking him to leave would. So she chose not to bother. 

The cushion welcomed her back with cool whispered promises of dreamy oblivion, but Bill’s footsteps kept her tied to the here and now, as if the air surrounding him was heavier somehow. She heard him circling the bed like a military operation, with careful paces, portentous. 

Belatedly, she realized that her pose exuded sexual fulfillment, and that Bill may take affront because he had not been included in its creation. Would he be wondering if there was truth to the rumors about the _real_ motives she had had for keeping Zarek on as vice-president…? Unlikely. And if so, she would worry about it later. She was asleep now. Or would be, if he would just leave. 

Bill came to a halt near her face. 

She found it testing to feign sleep under his scrutiny, until, after a few seconds, she realized he was standing not so much near her face, as next to her glistening anthracite-colored cock-shaped vibrator . 

_Ahem_. 

He had never seen any of her toys, she was sure of that. 

She heard his fingers slide over the sheet when he picked it up. It was inches longer than Bill was and she knew he would notice that and would take issue. Maybe that Bill’s primeval resentment towards the toy’s length would be soothed by its unfavorable comparison to his generous girth, but she doubted it. Middle-aged men remained men. 

In the thick silence she strained to hear his reaction. 

Nothing. 

Then the whirring sound of the vibrator filled the air. She envisioned how it rotated, twirling and throbbing a few inches from her Admiral’s nose. Over the machine’s humming, she heard his faultfinding grumble. No, he didn’t like the toy at all. After a long moment, he turned it off, dropped the vibrator on the mattress and moved away. 

She exhaled in cautious relief. She hoped he would leave now and allow her to have her final eight minutes of privacy. They could discuss relative sizes over dinner, if he felt the need. 

His steps stopped near the foot of the bed. 

The skin of her bared left foot tingled when his eyes came to rest upon it. She could hear his breathing now. 

There was a nudge on the sheet covering her. 

Her eyes shot open. 

The silk slid down from her neck, over her shoulders, her back. Goose bumps sprang up, prickling her skin where he’d bared it. In the cool air of the room, his stare seemed to etch a path over her naked flesh as the sheet traveled lower over her back. 

When it came to rest on her butt, she relaxed. Maybe he would go now. 

The sheet moved again. 

Maybe not. 

The sheet leisurely drifted down over her butt, her upper thighs, her calves, her feet, until she was naked, exposed to his scrutiny. He had chosen a strategic position at the foot of the bed, and she suppressed the impulse to close her thighs, allowing him to study her, allowing the prickle of his stare to bring the moistness back to her core. 

There was a long moment of silence. She felt a sumptuous freedom in permitting herself impassiveness, being still and submitting control to him, especially now he was so obviously out to make a point and set new rules. She waited. 

The mattress dented when extra weight was placed on it not far from her left foot. She tried to project his next move, spellbound by what he was planning in retaliation for her substituting a vibrator for him. She pleasantly anticipated his calloused hand caressing her calf, but the mattress indentions moved up toward her left hip as he climbed further onto the bed. The warmth of his body shimmered over her skin, his musky scent permeated her awareness but he still avoided touching her. 

There was a soft grunt and another shift on the mattress as he climbed over her leg and placed himself between her spread thighs. His knees resolutely pushed her legs further open, the fabric of his pants rubbing her inner thighs. His palms dug into the mattress near her shoulders and he lifted himself a few inches above her, hovering over her full length, ominously. 

Richard could scare her. She would never let him know, of course, no need to encourage him, but Richard, in his core, was a frightening man. Bill, Bill much less so, or so she had believed. He could be taciturn, forbidding, and overly formal, but it all changed when you were on the inside, in his inner circle. Then the unmovable, unreadable force became an irrationally considerate man, who would set aside other objectives, for love alone. It was his vulnerability, his unconcealed secret. It was why his crew followed him and what made him a leader. But now, suspended on his arms and knees, perching over her bare body in oppressive silence, his presence gradually became constricting, intimidating. Had she miscalculated? 

His nose nuzzled the hair in the nape of her neck and his warm breath caressed her skin. She relaxed imperceptibly. His nose traveled down her neck, over her shoulders, bearing down on her, smelling her, like a large animal scrutinizing a mate who suddenly smelled of a competitor, possessive, even with barely hidden aggression. _Certainly, he didn’t believe the stories about Zarek_? He didn’t touch her, leaving her more inflamed than when he would have used his hands. 

Maybe she shouldn’t have used her toys. Maybe she should have ordered the Admiral over. It would have made for an interesting phone conversation. She squashed the grin that crept up her face, storing the idea for later. Bill’s reaction made it evident that he felt he had a monopoly over her - and that by playing without him she had violated their covenant. Reprisal was in order. 

The mattress rose as he withdrew his hands and moved down over her until he halted between her legs. His breath caressed her labia. 

She bit her lower lip. Reprisal in what form? 

His warm tongue ambled the long road, starting at her throbbing clit, meandering over her swollen lips, until it rimmed her anus. The sensation swirled through her like a swerving wave, rolling in with the tide. She swallowed. His tongue prodded her lips, lingered at the opening, fleetingly slipped its tip inside but then out again, falling away, leaving her wanting. She knew that up close he couldn't miss the swelling of her labia, the glistening moistness or the aroma of her arousal, her wanting of him. 

His tongue lingered for a moment, promising more, then left her entirely. She stifled a moan and moved her butt up, tilting her hips, no longer satisfied with deferring the pace to him. The tip of his finger loitered over her behind, appreciatively following its curves in response. It was gratifying to be in communication of a sort, but it was not nearly an adequate reaction to her need. 

Then even his touch was gone. She sighed. Maybe she had overestimated his disgruntlement. 

The sound of a zipper ruptured their silence. _Maybe not_. 

His hands dented the mattress near her hips and traveled over the bed upward. The cold metal buttons of his uniform skated the sensitive skin of her back as he progressed over her and his cock skimmed the inside of her thigh, leaving a cold damp trail, until he was over her again, his hands firmly rooted near her shoulders. 

She heard his breathing near her ear. She was accustomed to relay her desires to him through minute facial nuances, and he responded to these smallest of her hints - when he saw them. Now, with her back towards him, caught in the atmosphere of payback, she felt vulnerable. 

The mattress between her thighs sank deeper. The tip of his cock head ambled over her labia. She angled her pelvis towards him, wanting more of him, trying capture him without success. She whimpered an appeal to him. 

He grunted softly, as if in response, and then, unhurriedly, pushed himself into her. Her awareness converged on his thickness sliding slowly inside, pressing against her walls, stretching her to fit his size, leaving her with equal neediness and vexation at his intolerably leisurely pace. Her vibrator had complied with her every wish, Bill, evidently was not going to be that accommodating. What was he trying to prove? 

When he filled her entirely, he halted. His breathing stirred her hair. 

She opened her eyes. Her eyes fixed on the hand that pressed into the mattress close to her head. Her breathing shallow, she waited for his move while impatience built up in her. Compared to her toy, this was frustrating. She ground herself against him and felt the pressure inside her shift full circle against her walls. 

No response. 

_Does he expect me to beg?_

She clamped herself around him, rippling her muscles around him, milking him, sucking him in. 

Bill swallowed noisily into her neck. 

_How’s that for begging?_

She repeated her interior message, pulsing and throbbing around him, adding an extra twirl of her hips. Two could play this game. 

His arms trembled, his breathing quickened and his hips moved marginally to accommodate her new position. Then he steadied himself, immobile again. And he made her wait, their bodies locked together in limbo, until she had to move – could no longer stop herself. 

As if sensing her weakening, he unhurriedly withdrew, pushing his body up on his hands, then settling back on his knees, behind her – until she was empty of him entirely, and the air cooled her wetness. 

Her eyes flicked open.  
_He wouldn't just …?  
He wouldn’t!_

Just when she thought this had gone far enough and she was prepared to turn and take control, his right hand slammed back into the mattress, just a few inches from her nose, nearly swiping the vibrator to the deck, and he pushed back into her, hard, almost deliberately rough, demanding she follow his lead. 

She whimpered, unable to cover her shock. 

The angle was all wrong for the force he exerted, but at least there was movement. She struggled to lift her hips under him, pushing back, trying to catch the power in the slant that would set her off, trying to use his wanton energy as much as he used her still form, but he promptly bent his arms, lowering himself to check her wriggling, trapping her under his massive torso, never altering the rhythm. The metal knobs of his jacket scratched the flustered skin of her back and the closing of his pants marked her behind. He had to be aware of it, but it didn’t stop him, just as she couldn’t stop herself from futilely trying to lift her hips to meet him. 

She didn’t have a handle on the madcap factor they had just stumbled upon, and by the sound of his rumbling, this engrossed him as deeply as it disturbed and enthralled her. Maybe they would have an urbane exchange about this another day, but right now his ragged breathing stirred her hair, and his animalistic cadence stirred a hidden corner in her soul, disconnecting the final fragments of thought from the fevered demands of her body. 

His breathing became heavier and his arms started to tremble with exertion. His weight pressed down on her, shrinking what little space he’d left her. When he stretched his limbs out of necessity, she exploited his lapse and the extra space to thrust her hips upwards and at last find the angle she needed. She groaned with relief. 

He slipped a hefty paw underneath her, finding her engorged knot with practiced ease. She reeled, keening against the cushion. She wanted to turn, to see his eyes, make contact, share, but he didn’t give her room. So she mashed her clit against his thumb, trapping his hand under her, securing her source of friction and undulating against it, writhing her hips towards release. 

He chortled helplessly near her ear at her brusque shift to frantic single-mindedness, but they worked in unison now, reconnecting in their intimate patterns, proven to discharge both their bottled-up tensions with as much impact as they could build. His teeth grazed her shoulder, lost grip, and bounced against her skin at the rhythm of their shared movement. Then his nibble became a startling bite, and she cried out and lost herself over the threshold, release convulsing through her body until her feet quivered over the mattress. 

Bill stiffened, shuddered against her back, and with a stifled growl, came inside her. Suddenly boneless, he flattened her into Baltar's mattress, driving the breath out her. He was a heavy man, easily three times her weight, who forewent his customary courtesy to move off of her, making clear he was still in control - that they were not even yet. But she didn’t mind the buttons of his uniform pressing against her sensitized skin, his chin digging into her shoulder, or his panting rasping in her ear. They lay together, winded, unable to give up the silence between them, or acknowledge what had happened. 

After a long moment, he lifted himself on his trembling arms, moving out of her, leaving her cold and empty, hovering over her again, almost as ominously as before. 

She closed her eyes. 

“Toys.” He loaded the word with the full extent of his derision. 

She waited, certain there was more to come. 

“Next time,” he rumbled, “call me.” 

A smile shimmered on her lips. “Anything you say, Sir.”


End file.
